


With my words I vow you and I (yet, words and wind)

by TheLadyMuse



Series: When the world stopped and time began [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, a game of thrones - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Lots of people remember but it's not a certain thing, Theon/Sansa starts as a way to control him and becomes it's own love affair, Time Travel, Whimsical time travel nonsense, Wolfsguard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-06 11:01:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12209934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyMuse/pseuds/TheLadyMuse
Summary: So, um. If you don't like Cat, here's a Time travel fic, where, after defeating the White Walkers, the Stark kids dislike that she doesn't treat him as their brother. Oh, and Daenerys and Aegon decide they'd rather have our darling Bastard than a crown.





	1. (When the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies) but the Pack survives

_‘Where did we go wrong?’_ The Lady of Winterfell wonders, watching her daughters in the practice yard. Sansa beams as her long knives flash, Arya laughing as Robb, Jon Snow and Theon Greyjoy watch carefully. Bran perches on Theon’s shoulders, his climbing habit having changed from buildings to people, while Rickon clings to Robb.

Catelyn would be glad if Bran climbing Greyjoy and Rickon refusing to let her hold him were the most of her concerns. As it is, her daughters have proudly taken to calling themselves the ‘She-wolves of Winterfell’, egged on by Greyjoy and Snow and even _Robb._ Robb who has been insisting for the last three moons that his bastard brother will be a far greater lord than he ever could be.

It infuriates Cat, that her children have decided Snow, and Greyjoy, and even her _nephew_ are to be followed. Bran trails Greyjoy everywhere, Rickon has taken up a correspondence with his cousin, and Robb and Snow have always been joined at the hip. Unfortunately, the Lady of Winterfell has no idea her eldest daughter has called a meeting.

Ned brings her to the solar with solemn eyes, and she is greeted by her laughing, happy children. Whose stares turn icy when they light upon her. Hurt and confused, Cat opens her mouth, closing it when Robb rises and greets his father affectionately. He turns from his mother, as do his siblings, each in their turn.

It is Sansa who frowns at them and calls to the door guard

“Find Jon and Theon, bring them here.” With a bow, the man does so, bringing both boys from the training yard. Greyjoy’s brows knit, and he asks uneasily

“Have you called a Wolfsmoot?” Sansa’s lips pinch, Arya slouches, Bran scowls and Rickon’s clear blue eyes focus on Robb. Who sighs and gestures for them to be seated before beginning

“Father, I-” Sansa clears her throat and Arya glares at her older brother, who winces and backtracks

“ _We_ have decided that I am not the best one to be Lord of Winterfell. Jon is.” Ned blinks, and Sansa says before Cat or anyone else can talk

“Regardless of succession, we want him legitimized, and if Mother will not treat him as our _brother,_ we want her to return to Riverrun.” Jon’s eyes are wide, and Theon starts chuckling, freezing when Sansa snaps

“Theon!” Sheepishly, the Ironborn lordling lowers his eyes.

Catelyn opens her mouth to protest, eyes prickling when Bran says with quiet evenness

“When the White Winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. We’re not risking Jon.” Cat runs from the room, sobbing through Ned’s quiet words telling her that the children have given her three moons to treat Jon _and_ Theon as theirs, or they will ensure she leaves

_‘How are they so fond of those-?’_

Catelyn never finishes the thought. She returns to watching the practice yard, in time to see Sansa cross swords with Theon, taking him to the ground and snarling her claim of victory in his face, hair blazing over his heaving chest. She never knows her daughter announced she’d paid the Iron Price for his cock and claim.

At the next Wolfsmoot, Catelyn is devastated when her own children demand either her removal from her place as Lady of Winterfell or Winterfell itself. They dismiss her once the demands are made, Arya petitioning Jon for ‘a good blacksmith’ and Sansa to foster children of other houses. Robb lobbied for a ‘new Maester’ and Theon for a ‘Wolfsguard’ to investigate banditry. Jon looked at his father with a sigh, and after Ned’s hesitant nod, began giving out orders.

“Sansa, Arya, you’ll be the Starks in Winterfell, arranging the fostering. Theon, Robb and I will ride out to investigate the bandits and to find a blacksmith, Maester and a few more members of the house guard.” The children all nodded, so he continued

“Rickon and Bran will continue training under Rodrik, and _when I get back,_ we will revisit my being legitimized.”

It infuriates Cat, that Ned isn’t trying to stop the children. She rides to Riverrun at the next dawn, hurting and angry. Her father and Edmure receive her warmly, and when told of what has transpired, Edmure rides to Winterfell, alarmed. Hoster makes the journey, curious more then anything.

They and their men are greeted with easy courtesy, and notice quickly that much of the old guard is training the young ones. Sansa, dressed in a neatly stitched long grey tunic, meets them in the yard. Her long Tully hair is yoked by a leather thong, and her eyes are blue as winter, clear and cold. Arya slinks up, Stark eyes intent, her own hair braided back in a style fit for King’s Landing. Both wear swords on their hips, slim rapiers that fit their frames.

They exude power, these ‘She-Wolves of Winterfell’. Hoster isn’t sure how his daughter birthed these girls, one with a golden Kraken hanging from her neck, the other gripping her sword with the ease of a person who knows their weapon.

Edmure is uneasy, and shoots his father a disbelieving look when Hoster nods at their explanation for running their mother from her home. In the time they both are there, several Westerosi young lords and ladies come to foster at Winterfell. Samwell Tarly, who will be a Maester, for instance, was one of the few Southerners. Most were Northern.

Hoster sees what his granddaughters intend, to play a long, deep game. Sees Sansa greet her Kraken with unveiled delight, and Arya eyes the blacksmith keenly. By the time his granddaughters are done, he knows, their family will be the most respected in Westeros. That impression is only heightened when Jon Snow, and his grandson Robb call their family together for a Wolfsmoot.

Curious, the Tully men ask admittance, and are stunned when Robb turns to his brother and respectfully asks him, Greyjoy side eyeing them both. Shaking his head, Snow replies

“They can observe, if that’s their wish.”

The Wolfsmoot, it turns out, is boring. Jon gives a status report to his father, short and blunt, Sansa reminds them that her marriage draws upon them, Arya comments that they’ll need a new maidens’ cloak. Bran and Rickon enthusiastically report their progress in their studies and which of the fostered ones they’re befriending.

Snow reminds his siblings with unexpected gentleness that their mother is missing, and only after he sighs and remarks

“Gods be good, but I never really knew my mother. You’re throwing away the best chance you have.” Does Greyjoy point out

“It’s foolish to just send her away, with no rhyme or reason, and it’s your _wedding_ , Sansa.” She frowns at him severely, expression easing only when he took her hand. Edmure is almost green with envy, at the way Sansa quiets and looks at the Kraken adoringly. Not that his niece is doing the looking, Heavens no, but that Greyjoy inspired in her that much love and adoration.

Sighing, Edmure and his father return to Riverrun, bringing with them a report that Cat despises. Her children are doing well without her, Snow is a good lord, or will be, and he and Greyjoy are the biggest advocates for her return. Sansa was to marry, Edmure and Hoster both wisely leaving out that it was to Theon.

When she received a raven from Winterfell, Cat thought- hoped- it was a letter begging for her return. What she got was far different.

_Mother_

_As much as I dislike writing to you, my darling betrothed has insisted I try. My beloved brother has also insisted. In the face of insistence from two men I love- and who love me- I needs must write to you._

_I am announcing my marriage, Mother. I paid the Iron Price for Theon’s body, as Father did his life. That means we are to marry. Once, here in front of the Heart Tree, and once more, on Pyke, once we have retaken my Kraken’s Seastone Chair._

_Jon has gotten a promise from the rest of us to behave towards you. He thinks we have need of a Mother who would harm the pack._

_As my Fathers’ words say, Winter is Coming. We do not need to be Tully to put family first. We will marry before the Heart Tree in three moons from this date._

_Don’t even think of insulting my brother wolf or my Kraken mate. Robb has promised to remove you to your chambers if you try._

_Sansa Stark,_

_She-Wolf of Winterfell, the elder_

The next raven was from Robb, and was far grimmer.

_Mother,_

_By now you have received Sansa’s raven. I’m about to go Ranging with Jon, Theon, Gendry and Trystane, so I will keep this short._

_We will permit no harm to our pack. Theon. Me. Jon. Sansa. Arya. Bran. Rickon. Father may side with you if he believes it best, but we will not allow even him to permit harm to our pack. We’re wolves._

_Don’t forget it, Trout._

_Robb_

Catelyn spent her nights sobbing for a sennight. Her children had turned on her! For something every woman would do. Ned had never sent him away, and now they were intent on making him the Lord of Winterfell!

Resolute, Cat packed and returned to Winterfell. She was greeted by Snow in a white tunic with a grey Direwolf, a Dornish girl at his right, and another pale faced, black haired boy standing solemnly beside him.

“Lady Catelyn. Welcome back to Winterfell. My Lord Father is in his solar, and my siblings are on a hunt, except for Rickon, who is in the hot springs with his cousin.” The stoic words do little to alleviate Cat’s ire, but it gives her the chance to settle in.

It aches and burns that she is in her husband’s seat only because his bastard has insisted his siblings try to repair their relationship with her. Rickon thaws first, and only because Cat has praised his work in the arms yard, where Robb and Jon drill him on the sword, Theon on the bow and Osha, his and Robin’s shared nurse, on the spear.

Trystane Martell eyes their interactions oddly, but is quickly distracted by fellow fosterling Myrcella Baratheon, who he’s teaching to wield a spear. Samwell Tarly, also eyes them, but quietly advises Cat on how to get in her children’s good graces. She can’t even be angry when he mentions that ‘Jon’ suggested he do so. Not when his constant, gentle words are what guide her children back to her.

She will never have a good relationship with them, if she ever did, she knows after Sansa’s wedding. The stubborn girl had shot down her mothers’ attempts at getting her to marry before the Seven, insisting

“I’m only asking Theon for two ceremonies, and I promised him one in front of the Drowned God.” Cat had seethed over that for days, especially after she overheard Greyjoy comment that he’d have been fine with three, but Sansa dismissed it with

“Those are my mothers’ Gods, not mine. The Old and Drowned are my Gods.”

Catelyn had struggled to accept that Arya would marry a blacksmith, and that Robb doted on a healer from Volantis, that Rickon had been thrilled to receive Princess Shireen, while Bran had greeted Meera Reed like a lost dream come true.

Once Cat settled, Jon’s ‘sworn brother’ Aede, and his sister Dany quietly reminded the Starks about legitimizing Jon, who rolled his eyes at the next Wolfsmoot.

Which Cat had been surprised to attend. Her children had pursed their lips and even Ned sighed, but Jon reminded them

“She’s a Stark too.” Gendry, the blacksmith Bull, had fidgeted, Talisa dryly chuckled, Shireen had shared a look with Meera, Theon snickered while Dany smiled.

Catelyn listened intently as Robb and Talisa gave their reports, Bran, Rickon, Shireen, Meera and Sansa reporting on the success of the fosterlings. Jon listened carefully, Dany stroking his hand carefully on the table. Theon, the current captain of the Wolfsguard, gave a full report of his mens’ movements since the last Wolfsmoot.


	2. We do not sow (for Winter is Coming)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa pays the Iron Price for Theon and it Changes things

When she first heard her mothers’ excited chirping about Robert journeying North to see Jon before legitimising him, Sansa cursed. And then enlisted Arya’s help in arranging the things that needed to be done.

A Stark maiden cloak, to be sure. One that could be kept for decades, she hoped. A black and gold Greyjoy cloak for her, and Direwolf cloaks fit for captains for Theon, Jon, Gendry and Robb and a Lord’s cloak for her father. Scowling, Sansa supposed she needed to garb her mother in a dress and cloak. Begrudgingly, Arya agreed.

Myrcella offered to help, blushing when Trystane told her in a serious voice to make sure she was ready to make one herself. Daenerys, who had as yet avoided detection as a Targeyen, also offered her help, giggling when Sansa tutted that her Lord Brother might have need of her.

The morning of Sansas’ wedding before the Heart Tree dawned a blushing pink, and she and Arya both pulled on Stark grey dresses. Jon, Robb, Bran and Rickon wear Stark tunics, lovingly sewn by their sisters, as does Ned. Theon wears a full suit of Ironborn regalia for the first time in a long while, a Kraken on his breastplate and one on his back, and his voice rings forth clear as a bell. Sansa is delirious with happiness, her Kraken replacing her Maiden cloak with the one from his own back. Her own vows are said, and she turns, grinning, to her sister, who gently drags her Bull before the Heart Tree to swear a promise of union to the Gods. From her Theon’s arms, Sansa leads the cheer that goes up, the younger She-Wolf of Winterfell to promised to a strong man of the Wolfsguard.

Later, when Sansa was once again the Stark in Winterfell, she was glad that she and Arya had sorted their marriages. Joffrey Baratheon was to come to Winterfell with his father. He would arrive while Ned and the Wolfsguard were ranging. Lady and Nymeria growled low, Myrcella’s lioness, Blazemane, tensed, while Dacey Mormont’s she-bear, Shiera, grumbled.

And that, Sansa thought grimly, were her exact sentiments.

Still, she was the reigning Stark of Winterfell, the only one with a shred of diplomacy and the age to act. So, flanked by Dacey Mormont, Shiera, and Meera Reed, whose lion-lizard Casserion rested on her outstretched palm, she waited to greet the Southron caravan. Myrcella was busy on a ride in the Wolfswood, escorted by Trystane Martell and Aede Ondarion. She didn’t know her family was coming, but Trystane did. Hopefully, he would break it to her while they rode, Aede fending off any unwanted gazes.

Ignoring Joffrey’s lustful gazes and answering Robert’s blustering curtly, Sansa strode through the halls of Winterfell, answering all calls of ‘She-Wolf the Elder’ and ‘Greyjoy She-Wolf’ with brisk nods.

Arya sat, hearing the concerns of the North, in the Great Hall. Her frown of concentration was deeper than usual, probably because on the few occasions she had held Court, Gendry had been nearby. Shaking her head, Sansa raised her voice and announced

“Sister, our Royal guests have arrived, and our Fostered Sister will soon return to her surprise.” Tilting her head, Arya replied

“Aye, Sister mine.” Together, they murmured something the Southerners didn’t catch, but if they had, they’d have heard both ‘We do not sow, yet Winter is coming’ and ‘Ours is the Fury, and Winter is coming’.

The idea of mixing House Words had come from Daenerys, who had growled at someone a lifetime ago that ‘Winter is Coming, in Fire and Blood’. Sansa had delightedly mixed her husbands’ words with hers, and Arya also had smirked delightedly. Dacey had further embellished the custom into murmuring House words with your liegelords’ as a sign of renewed allegiance.

As she did now, mumbling

“Winter is coming, Here we stand.” Meera returned

“Winter is coming, from Greywater Watch.”

 

For his part, Joffrey Baratheon, first of his name, gaped at the elder She-wolf of Winterfell. Her long boots, like those of the others fostered with her and her sister, covered black leggings, belted tunics in house colours beneath furlined cloaks. Arya’s was lined with the pelt of a Winter fox, gifted to Sansa by a lord who’d wished her favor for his son. Raising a brow, Sansa had sewn a cloak and gifted it to her sister, carefully collecting golden furs to line the black great cloak she was making for her husband.

Her own black wolf’s pelt lined cloak was wrapped around her shoulders now, her Stark tunic visible beneath Kraken black, but all Joffrey saw was the golden monster on her back.

Now, we must remember that Robert had all but promised him a Stark bride, and they had arrived to find the elder married and the younger promised to his bastard brother.

However, Sansa knew that, given the chance, Joffrey would harm her, and her kith and kin. So they were brusque and unbending, but gave their loyalty as they ought. Mayhap Torrhen had knelt to dragons, but the Starks weren’t interested in losing the time, money or people to depose Robert. They would, through a quietly, gently nurtured alliance with Dorne- augmented by Western defectors- poison his House, instead.

Were it not for knowing what the men and women of the old generations were capable of, the Starks, Myrcella, Tommen, Trystane, Samwell Tarly would have been happy to live out their lives and not cared a jot. Why should they? The Others were gone. But they did know, so they plotted and planned and schemed, so that by the time they were bouncing their children, they would raze the rot in Westeros and have the greatest revenge: lives of happiness and love.

Trystane was confident he had the backing of the Sand Snakes near in age to him, and that Myrcella did too, after having offered to breed a Sand Snake or two before bearing a true child. Sansa had considered allowing Theon a salt wife, but ultimately decided that her Kraken was _hers,_ bought and paid for by the Iron Price.

Arya had agreed, that her Bull might one day need such a thing as a Sand Snake. She had, in the same breath, agreed that she would geld him if he tried it.

_‘Only weak men mock another for taking a predator into their bed. I would not be who I am without my Kraken’s protection, try though I and my brothers and sister might to make it unnecessary.’_

Bearing a Northern frown, which looked strange on her Tully face (Gods, but Sansa did despise her looks at times) she bade them wait, that Myrcella would be along shortly.

Joffrey made his way over to the great throne at the head of the Great Hall, the Seat of Winter, where Sansa had taken the seat of the Stark in Winterfell, and Arya the guards’ position. Honestly, Joffrey tried to flirt with Sansa, but he asked all the very painfully wrong questions. The women of the Wolfsguard traded expressions the whole time he did so. Perhaps worst is that he started with

“So you married a pirate?” Raising a brow, Sansa answered coldly

“I married the man who will sit the Seastone Chair.” Swallowing his rage, Joffrey pressed

“Is the fucking good?” More blandly icy tone and frown

“What happens in my marriage bed is none of your concern, however, if you ask because my Kraken needs heirs, rest assured, I have only not provided them because I enjoy his cock enough to not want brats around yet.” (considering she’d told the Ironborn delegation who arrived for the wedding that she’d paid the Iron Price for his cock and eventually his claim, it was no lie) Catelyn choked as the Ladies of the Wolfsguard howled, slapping the table, Dacey bellowing

“Oh ho ho ho! You tell ‘em, She-Wolf!” Rolling her eyes, Sansa added assertively, inwardly chortling with glee when she jabbed blank faced

“From what I hear, my brothers are similarly endowed as my husband, and their wives of a similar mindset, after all, _Winter is coming.”_ Arya snorted, Dacey, Alys Karstark, Dany and even Meera went off into chortles and giggles again.

Cersei fumed as Joffrey’s face burned, but Sansa wasn’t finished.

“Hmm,” She mused, delighted her bannerwomen again when she asked loftily

“I’ve heard dragons are quite… pleasureable.” Looking up, she asked Arya with false innocence

“Do you think Theon would be _very_ mad if I insisted we find out?” Her sister sniffed and reminded her

“Only if you cross the Sea to the Mad Beggar. I don’t think he’d mind a Blackfyre terribly much, mayhaps the youngest Targaryen, if he could watch.” Arya and Sansa watched their arrow hit the target, Robert’s face purpling as Joffrey’s had, but Myrcella called to them from the doorway, looking healthy and happy.

That might have been because she and Trystane had decided to start on their precious Sand Snakes, but she wasn’t truly showing yet, just glowing with health. Myrcella herself clung to Trystane, fearful green eyes turned up to the Prince of Dorne’s. He soothed her with a touch and a few words, and she relaxed against him, neither noticing the flash of envy in the Kingslayers’ eyes and the possessiveness in Cersei’s.

Before anyone else can speak, a member of the house guard announces that the rest of the Wolfsguard had returned. Sansa, Arya, Dany, Talisa and Catelyn rise as one, though Sansa streaks ahead, gleeful at the thought of her Kraken.

The King’s entire caravan sees the Stark ladies reunited with their husbands or promised ones, Sansa dragging Theon backwards into a searing kiss, Talisa peppering Robb’s face with kisses, Arya jumping into Gendry’s arms and Dany laughing as Jon buried his face in her hair. Ned and Catelyn were quieter, but no less sweet.

Robert feels everything he ever was sink out into the ground when Arya Stark leaps into the arms of his blacksmith warrior bastard, who spins on his heel as if he’s done this a thousand times. Arya squeals her joy, for once so totally girlish that it’s hard to believe the hard edged, blank faced child who greeted him is also her. Sansa, with her sharp, bawdy japes and ice-cold courtesy, looks more like a wildling, bending her back into a kiss with her man. Jon Snow, all Stark look and ice grey eyes, greets his (Beloved? Betrothed? Wife?) with a look of adoration before dropping to his knees and burying his face into her stomach instead of smelling her hair. Robb and Talisa are being positively proper, holding each others’ faces and whispering words of love.

Robert’s throat locks when he sees his daughter run to her brother, laughing delightedly when he scoops her into the other arm, crushing her into his chest before carefully handing her to a pinch-faced Trystane, who murmurs what is probably a scolding for possibly injuring their little Sand lion. Myrcella’s giggles subside as a harried Trystane carries her back into the keep.

Aede Ondarion winces at the sharp look Cersei sends at his cousins’ back. Trystane has been excited about his match to Myrcella since before she’d offered him Sand Snakes. Shaking his head, the eldest of the secret Targeryen trio herds his brothers’ kin inside, smirking at Catelyn because he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Aede and Dany Ondarion are Aegon and Daenerys


	3. Winter is coming(, and Ours is the Fury)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and her Bull take center stage at Winterfell

Just as Sansa did, Arya knows Robert wanted a Stark-Baratheon match. She takes a deep, perverse pleasure in that it _will_ happen, just not the one Robert expected.

She takes more pleasure in Targaryens living under his nose. Jon, Aede, Dany, they don’t look Targaryen, but they are, and it pleases her.

What pleases her _more_ is that Jon was able to find Gendry. Find him and bring him back to her. Of course, she had to help Sansa arrange the fostering of several people, even if she didn’t really want to, and she had to make certain her brothers would stay out of trouble. That was what had led to Bran climbing people- Theon, Hodor and Jon, mostly, but sometimes Robb- and Rickon clinging to his siblings when he wasn’t training in the yard. Osha’s reappearance had been a blessing, especially when she remembered enough to be comfortable in Winterfell, minding to young lords.

Gendry had adjusted quickly to smithing for the Lord of Winterfell and his family, training on Robb’s command. He had also adjusted quickly to the Brotherhood Without Banners coming and swearing fealty to him as a Captain of the Wolfsguard.

Tom of Sevenstreams and Thoros of Myr had taken different positions at Sansa’s command. Tom did his work as a bard ought, singing and playing, but also teaching the young ones who wished to learn music. Thoros, on the other hand, taught about Rh’llor, and why it was so dangerous to practice the Red God’s faith.

Arya and Sansa had obeyed their brother and left the Sept of the Seven alone, though they wished to tear it down.

“Father built that for your Lady Mother,” Jon had said sternly, reminding them

“It’s not fair to destroy a gift because you are at odds with the recipient.” Grudgingly, the girls had called for a Septon, but only after installing a priest of the Old Gods as caretaker of the Godswood, themselves the tenders of the Heart Tree.

With Jon’s instructions, Arya mused, Winterfell had bloomed like a winter rose. The foster children had brought wagons of gifts and gold, or trade agreements. Robin Arryn had corresponded with his father and the lords of the Vale about improving trade with the North further.

But the most genius idea Jon had had before he left was suggesting a Peacemeet. All the foster children would gather to practice negotiation and to become familiar with each other. It had only taken two letters- copies sent to every Great House in Westeros- explaining the Peacemeet, the attending parties, and what had been discussed in each Meet for more fosterlings to come to Winterfell.

So that the Meets were not crowded, Sansa spoke for the North, Dacey and Smalljon with her. Arya oversaw the guard, as she intended to be the Winterwhisperer, Master of Whispers for all Winter touched. Trystane always brought whichever cousin felt like coming.

Myrcella, who was fast growing to take her desired title of ‘Lioness of Kings Landing’, spoke for the West, her recently arrived brother Tommen and little Ash Marbrand spoke for the Houses there.

Beyond that, Arya wasn’t really interested in what was going on. Sure, one day she would be the Spymaster of All Winter Touched, but that was a long ways off. Robb, Bran and Rickon all intended to be Arms Masters, Robb serving Jon, Bran serving Theon, and Rickon serving their cousin Robin. Bran and Rickon practiced every day because they had to, but she wasn’t the Spymaster yet.

When Jon, Robb, Theon, Gendry and whoever else went Ranging with them return to Winterfell in her fathers’ wake, Arya sees Roberts’ expression. He looks… old and defeated and very fat.

Fighting a sigh, Arya tightens her grip on Gendry’s neck. Catelyn, Robert, Rickard, Rhaegar, even Lyanna had their parts to play. Hoster Tully, too, and Petyr Baelish certainly spurred the war when it suited him.

The Gods had given them- the Starks, Theon, Trystane, Myrcella, Tommen- the chance to change their lives without the threat of the Others. Only because, Arya reminded herself, Jon had defeated them in that life he wouldn’t live again.

She was definitely too young yet to masquerade as one of the Faceless, but when she was ready, Cersei, Stannis, Joffrey, Robert, Viserys, they were all on her list. Trystane intended to assist Sandor in toppling the Mountain, and Myrcella wanted her grandfather _gone._

Her Gendry had promised she wouldn’t do this alone. Sansa had asked her to wait until she and Theon were going to take Pyke so there would be Chaos to hide in. Jon had decreed that he and Aegon would be the ones to take out Viserys. Tommen had grimly promised to rule Westeros long enough to solidify alliances and put his uncle on the Rock before putting Aegon on the Iron Throne. Who had in turn promised his brother and Cousin that the North and Dorne would be the first kingdoms to have their freedom.

It had been amusing, how much of the Peacemeet notices were lies. Tommen and Aegon had spent hours plotting before bringing a plan of Kings to them. They had called it the ‘March of Kings’. Margaery, guarded by her brother Loras, had conceded that they would consider it.

Tommen had bared his teeth in a smile and called his ‘Uncle’ Renly North. Few besides Arya had witnessed the lovers reunion, as they hadn’t met yet in this life. Renly had gathered Loras close, shushing his tears and kissing his face gently. Gendry had just as gently informed Renly of their plan to relieve him of Storm’s End, and mentioned that it would let his lady wife rest easy if he was trailed by a pair of strong knights.

Renly and Loras both had immediately and enthusiastically sworn their swords to Gendry, the ‘Rightful Storm King’. Sansa, a smile on her lips, had suggested that Renly take Loras as his squire, if Margaery would permit a Stark man to guard her. Also smiling, Margaery had agreed she needed to get used to not being guarded by her brothers’.

Arya had to fight back a snicker at the looks on the knight-lovers faces when Bran mentioned that in the North, it was common for a sworn sword and his apprentice to spend time in the Wilds together, where wolves howled and rabbits screamed.

So Arya wasn’t really surprised when her promised husband’s uncle dragged Loras away the first chance they had. Theon had sighed, but shaken his head when Sansa waggled her brows. Jon had rolled his eyes and offered Dany his arm, Aede a step behind as they walked back into the keep.

Once Robert and his entourage left, life went on, Myrcella eventually gave birth in the seclusion of the chamber she shared with Trystane. Catelyn had been sworn to secrecy as they all had been, pressed to keep the secret after explaining the tradition of Sand Snakes.

Nymeros Sand, Arya mused, would give his parents no end of trouble. Though his birth hadn’t been easy, he was a handsome babe, his father come again.

She wanted at least one son who looked like his father. Sometimes, she detested how like her mother she sounded, and others… She understood Catelyn Tully Stark a little better. However, she already knew that unlike Catelyn, she would encourage her daughters to be the first She-Wolves of Storm’s End. Gendry, she knew, would teach their boys not just to be lords with his Uncle Renly’s help- that relationship was set in stone- but also to be good knights like his Uncle Loras, and the best blacksmiths the world had seen for an age.

If one of their girls wanted to enter the smithy, she would fight him for it, Arya decided then and there. It was dangerous, yes, but she knew Gendry would not permit harm to come to their children.

And maybe, she reconsidered as Gendry taught a young girl from Winter Town to take care of her blade, she would not have to. No matter how strong they were, he would never want their children to fight if they didn’t have to.

With a satisfied smile curving her lips, Arya walked over to her Bull, intent on teasing him.


	4. (For family and duty, we soar) As High as Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin Arryn returns and picks a side, and then he makes friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a copy of the notes I used on FF.net, because they tend to be prudish, uncompromising little airheads:  
> Aloha. Usually, I hate doing long authors' notes, but I figured, since Anime Princess and a few other people are voicing concerns about this story, I'd explain a few things.
> 
> I've been experimenting with this type of fic for a while. Unfortunately, it's not as common here as on AO3. The story isn't lost, silly. It's foggy as a style choice. The Others were defeated but everyone died. They go back to after the Rebellion but before Jon Arryn died. For this instalment, it was a fixed point in time. The next one is different, as is the third- they'll go farther and farther back. For now, the current generation of Starks has a chance to reforge Winter- they are descended from the Kings of it- as Dorne, and Martells can reforge Summer, which is a purposeful parallel to the Faerie courts. Another reviewer said that the children adore their mother. Well, I HAVE a half brother. If my Dad wouldn't treat him at least as MY brother rather than my Mom's mistake and we didn't actually need him, I'd get him out. Also, if you can't tell, I kind of hate Catelyn with a passion, probably because of being brought up with a half brother.
> 
> Also, it was kind of intended as an implied role reversal for Catelyn. Because I love my big brother. So much. Just as there isn't much he wouldn't do for me (even if he grumbled) there is very little I would not do for him or to protect him. Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon and Robb know that Jon was a great king, as does Ned. When Catelyn (Showverse) claimed it all happened because she couldn't love Jon Snow, the gods gave her this life in punishment, methinks.  
> Thanks for the reviews  
> Muse

Robin was doing everything so very differently. He’d gleefully acted as if his mother was abusing him to protect his father, as her madness had been discovered, as was the poison she wished to feed her husband. First with the help of the Maesters and now on his own, Robin had corresponded with Rickon and then his Lord father. Now he also wrote every week to the Lords Declarant in the Vale, describing his lessons with Luwin and Sam and his training with the Stark siblings, Trystane Martell and his Sand Snake cousins.

Once he remembered that his father would die by his mothers’ hand, it hadn’t been hard to try to get rid of her. She hadn’t poisoned him until later, when he was healing from the sickness. So, he wailed for and ran to his father every time his mad mother tried to feed him from her breast. He refused to eat food except what came from his fathers’ plate, knowing his mother loved him still. When his father was busy, he either napped in his lap or pestered the Maesters into helping him send letters to his cousin Rickon, the closest in age to him, and the one who’d agreed to be his Master-at-Arms when they were given leave to save their fathers.

He struck up a friendship with Tommen Baratheon, who nicknamed him the Young Falcon. In retaliation, Robin had called him the Young Lion. Now they only ever addressed each other as Lion and Falcon. Myrcella had quickly been absorbed as Lioness.

When Sansa and Arya had sent the fostering invitation, he had begged his father to come with him to visit Winterfell, so they could meet his Master-at-Arms. Curious, Jon had gone along with it, astonished when Tommen Baratheon had hugged his son and said warmly

“Safe journey, Falcon, and prepare the Wolves for my arrival.” With a laugh, Robin had returned with equal warmth

“Always, Lion. I will, and we’ll care for the Lioness, at least until her Prince rescues her from the dismal Cyvasse players in the North.” Tommen snickered and asked

“Didn’t your man say that no one in the North knows how to play?” When Robin nodded, the Prince chuckled and remarked

“Ah, then Trystane will save Cella from boredom for sure. My thanks, Falcon.” Robin shrugged and said easily

“For Family, and Duty, we soar as High as Honor.” Nodding, Tommen replied

“They’ll Hear Me Roar if Ours is the Fury.” The boys walked away from each other, and Jon thought no more of it until they landed in White Harbor, and were greeted by Wylla Manderly, who said carefully

“Winter is coming, and the North remembers, Lord Robin Arryn.” With a jerky nod, Robin replied

“For Family and Duty, we soar as High as Honor.” Puzzled, Jon watches Lysa’s nieces and nephews greet him, each scowling ferociously until Robin asks

“Where is my Lord Jon? I have been waiting to meet him, as has Father.” Jon nods, curious about Ned’s boy, and is left stunned when the scowls melt into utterly beautiful smiles. Sansa chirps delightedly

“My brother wolf is with my Kraken and our Lord Father in the solar.” Robb chuckles and escorts them, commenting that

“A flight of falcons are living in the Wolfswood, cousin, mayhaps you should see if the animal of your sigil responds to you as the Direwolves do us.” Robin replies in the affirmative, and Jon’s consciousness fuzzes, as he remembers bits and pieces of before, both Ned and Robin hovering when he falls to a fever.

He rises anew, his son and their falcons studying him intently. Gods, this is why Ned had allowed his children to drive their mother from Winterfell. Lysa had… Well, it was safe to say he would be focusing on Robin from now on. Gratefully, he accepted both his new falcon, Goldeneye, and the offer of fostering for Robin. Who grinned as he stroked his falcon, Brightwing, and swapped nudges with his cousin. Rickon and Shaggy were a great fit for his son, two wild boys and their nursemaid beasts.

Although Robin disliked his father leaving him, he understood the why of it, so he and Brightwing saw off their fathers, Goldeneye being an adult falcon and Brightwing little more than a fledgling.

As others to be fostered came to Winterfell, more sigil beasts came to the Wolfswood. Tommen, Myrcella and her children received hulking lions, Trystane a snake, while Margaery and Loras were surprised to receive doves. Renly and Gendry both got stags that allowed them to ride, but were better in battle if they weren’t ridden.

One of the visits to another holdfast included a stop at White Harbor, where Theon met a Kraken and the Manderly girls shrieked over having mermaids throw them weapons.

Once everyone in Winterfell (including, to the Stark children’s displeasure, Catelyn) knew that Dany, Aede and Jon were the lost Targaryens, the dragons hatched. At Aegon’s request, Ned reclaimed the Wall, executing those who were there for their crimes, men like Jeor Mormont and Aemon Targaryen given the chance to return to their homes. Those who didn’t would help rebuild the Night’s Watch with the help of the Wildlings.


	5. Like the sand, we are Unbent, Unbowed, Unbroken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So. I saw a Benjen/Obara pairing once, and I was interested in how, precisely, it would work if it wasn't necessary to Dorne's wellbeing.

Obara Sand, who was visiting her sisters and cousins, was curious about the Men on the Wall, and was quite stunned to come face to face with Benjen Stark, who looked more like a warrior than a Lord. He was cold, as she seemed, but she wondered if she could light a fire in him.

It turned out, that once his vows were gone- dissolved by the descendant of the builder of the Wall- she could. And Benjen was _so_ different from all the men she’s ever known. Strong, kind and compassionate with an ice cold edge. He warms, slightly, when Jon and Bran tackle him for hugs, cradling his nephews close. Robb, Sansa, Arya, Rickon and Ned move in closer, finally engulfing the three males.

Over the time spent re-establishing the Wall and the Watch, she tried courting him the Dornish way, fascinated with this icy cold man who smiled at his family. He refused her gently every time, so she went to Robb for an explanation.

Blue eyes lighted with love, he explains that Benjen is a Stark, descended of the Kings of Winter. It is not that she is a bastard that he will not play with her. It is that she will go, and if he lets her close, gives her his heart, she’ll have the power to break him, as Lyanna’s leaving with Rhaegar had done before.

Brandon, young, sweet Brandon comes in, in time to hear, and he says in that serene way of his

“You are a princess of Summer, Obara. If you truly desire to keep a prince of Winter, no one and nothing will stop you.” Robb adds softly

“But only if you will keep him.”

After that, Obara spends a long time thinking. She had only wanted to play for a bit, to see if Benjen had fire. But… would it be so bad, wed to such a man as the renewed First Ranger of the Night’s Watch? Expected to fight at his back when the Wildlings revolt, and warm his bed when they didn’t?

Ned Stark suggests she consider staying at the Wall, or at Winterfell for a season or two, training with the Northmen. She does so, writing her father of all the challenges to be found in the North- how Rhaegar’s sons fight with swords, and the Spearwives are fierce as any woman from Dorne.

Most of all, though she doesn’t realize it, that letter is filled with the name Benjen. How strong and kind and compassionate he is.

Oberyn Martell receives the letter from Obara when Doran receives a letter from Trystane, announcing the impending birth of his Sand, the piece Myrcella intends to give to Tywins’ downfall. The brothers jump into action, though neither knows Trystane sent another letter, one across the Narrow Sea to Norvos.

_My dear Mother Mellario,_

_I doubt you have forgotten me, but you never knew me as more than a babe. I am your youngest son, Trystane. I am announcing, to the family at least, that my beloved, Myrcella Baratheon, is three moons from birthing the Sand Snake she promised me._

_If you do not come to Winterfell, I will not hold it against you. But Mother, I must tell you that I have also told my Father._

_I have never asked Father this, but as he has taken no paramours, I believe he has not stopped loving you. Mayhaps it is the disease that often keeps him abed, but Arianne, last I spoke with her, believes this too. Quentyn, in our correspondence, has revealed to me that he has not forgotten you. In many ways, Father has never permitted it. The statue and paintings created in your honor remain tended only by Areo Hotah on his orders._

_Father did what was expected of him by his people and lost the woman he loves._

_If you return to Westeros, please remember that my father loved- still loves- you._

_With loving respect,_

_Trystane Nymeros Martell_

In Norvos, Mellario spent a number of days stewing over her sons’ letter. The rebukes in it were gentle, more implied than said. She had reviled her husband for doing his duty.

_Doran._

Heart thudding, Mellario booked passage to White Harbor, sending a letter to her son ahead. She was greeted in White Harbor by a girl who introduced herself as Wynafryd Manderly, who offered her the choice of wheelhouse or horse to get to Winterfell.

Taking the horse and the girl’s guidance, Mellario froze as she realized her husband’s wheelhouse had arrived ahead of her. A scream lodged in her throat when she saw Areo Hotah carry her Doran, wrapped in furs, to a wheeled chair an attendant held firm. Jaw quivering, Mellario slipped down from her horse, grasping the saddle to remain standing. Hidden in the gateway as she was, she saw a young man in Martell colours and reddish furs hurry to greet her husband. That had to be her son Trystane, she thought dizzily.

“Princess Mellario?” The gentle address had her head whipping around, as she came face to face with a grey eyed, black haired boy, who carefully took the reins of her horse as a girl with Valyrian hair took her arm, another black haired boy taking the other.

“Come meet Myrcella first.” The girl suggested softly. Nodding softly, she allowed them to lead her to Myrcella, a golden girl nursing a black haired babe.

“Nymeros, Princess Mellario.” She told Mellario, green eyes glinting. Mellario startled when her children filed in, Trystane followed by Arianne and Quentyn.

“Mother.” Arianne breathed, squeezing her before Quentyn did the same. Trystane kissed her cheek, all three inhaling when Mellario asked

“Where’s your Father?” Quentyn lowered his eyes and Arianne said softly

“The journey tired him greatly, Mother. He’s resting with Areo as his guard.” Quentyn cleared his throat and asked urgently

“Will you try to forgive him doing what needed to be done?” taken aback, Mellario went to protest, and then Arianne jumped in

“The Maesters have been begging him to write you for ages, because he’s so sad, Mama, and Uncle Oberyn suggested we beg you to write a few lies so he wouldn’t be so heartbroken.” Trystane sighed and reminded his siblings

“That is between Mother and Father. It was lucky enough to get you all here to see Nymeros, even if it was under the pretense of betrothing Obara.”

Mellario felt terrible. Hurt as she’d been, her actions had hurt others. Watching her children coo over Nymeros, she slipped away to Doran’s rooms, pressing a finger to her lips as she passed Areo Hotah. Her husband was dozing beneath a heap of furs and quilts, Obella and Loreza, the youngest Sand Snakes if she remembered Areo’s letters correctly, curled up beneath his shoulders.

She sits on the bed and studies her husband’s face. Younger in sleep, yes, but still lined, his hair streaked in silver. His eyes flutter open as she strokes his nose, and then they shut tight and he mumbles that it’s a dream, a dream, _a fucking dream._

His mumbling wakes Obella and Loreza, who quietly slip out when Mellario shows them the Martell necklace she’s worn since she married Doran. Who is himself quiet now.

“The children have asked me to forgive you for doing your duty.” Her words wake Doran, if he’d ever returned to sleep.

“Mellario.” His rasp washes over her, as does more guilt. Her husband that she’d claimed to love and honor, and the customs of his people, is lying here and she can tell he believes it a dream still.

_How can I love him still? After what he’s done…But I do. I wish I hadn’t left him, not like this, not for so long, but would he even take me back?_

Rising, she strips off her clothes and burrows under the furs until she lays beside her husband, lacing her fingers through the trembling hand that traces over her stomach.

There is much to talk about. But. She will forgive him, maybe. Maybe they will just have a little more time in the frozen North, and she will return to Norvos and he to Dorne.

When Trystane slips in to hand Nymeros Sand to his father, he smiles to see his mother tucked against Doran. He hopes that they can be without the anger and bitterness, but he’s unsure if there’ll be more than that.

Obara, for her part, is happy for her uncle. If he felt for Mellario half what she did for Benjen, then he’s spent many years in misery for their country.

Another thing she’s happy about is that even with her being legitimized as a Martell, he had shrugged off changing her name or words and said indifferently

“Ned’s Cat kept her fathers’ name, why can’t my Sand Snake?”

And she loved him for it. She loved him all the more when he announced after their wedding

“Obara Martell Stark will train the spearmen and wives willing to join the Night’s Watch if that is her wish.”


	6. Hear Me Roar (if Ours is the Fury)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myrcella/Trystane. Because they deserved more than death, even if that's what they want to give Tywin and the Mountain.

Myrcella Lannister (for she will always see herself as one, unless she truly marries Trystane) had never thought she would have his cousins’ respect. But after she gave birth to Nymeros, and gently guided him through reconciling Doran and Mellario, the seeds were sown.

From her first blood until her eighteenth nameday, Myrcella bore Trystane four children. Nymeros and less than a year later, his younger brother Mellarion. Melia and Myrra were twins and the last children she carried until Cersei, Tywin and Robert were coerced, threatened and tricked into allowing her to marry Trystane.

Obara, who visited from the Wall often as she could, and the oldest Sand Snake, grew fond of Myrcella because she had reasoned

“If it weren’t for Tommen, Tyrion, and Jaime, the direct line would be a waste of Lannister flesh. No, better I give Trystane and Dorne the tools to bring them all down, and even if it takes until the children can talk and think, Dorne will have Lannister minds working on their victory.”

Much as her father wanted to avenge aunt Elia, it had been agreed that not only did Sandor Clegane have the best chance, but also the most cause.

Sarella visited only once, and was pleased with Myrcella, who made sure her Desert Lions were taught everything they would ever need. The Lannister girl also listened to Sarella’s recommendations about what needed doing for her cubs to grow strong.

Tyene, Nymeria, Elia, Obella, Loreza and Dorea had studied Myrcella curiously, the younger ones delighted that Myrcella played with them, the older ones interested in how well she fought for a pregnant girl.

Trystane was grateful that Myrcella loved him enough to give him tools to destroy her grandfather, but he hated seeing it happen. His blonde beauty had fought for hours to birth his babes every time, in so much pain that only his touch helped even a little.

His sons, Nymeros and Mellarion both came out quiet, black haired and red faced. But his darling girls, Melia and Myrra, were squalling bundles of gold. His sons received nestling snakes but his daughters only got lion cubs, and of course, the Desert Lion banner their mother created.

She had, in a fit of sentiment he disapproved of, sent a banner to the current Sand Snakes. It was a red viper, lunging on a yellow field. The Desert Lion banner was similar, a crouching red lion on a golden field, all details etched in black.

In that life they wouldn’t live again, his cousin had killed him, and Ellaria had killed Myrcella. He only allowed Obara around because she loved Benjen as deeply as he loved Myrcella. Tyene and Nymeria he watched closely, never straying from Myrcella’s side longer than it took to find the children.

The North had surprised him in their acceptance of certain Dornish customs. Robb Stark had waved it away and dismissed

“The Old Gods and their Way are reclaiming the North. A bastard is the product of the Sept, not the Children.”

Obara had gone starry eyed, begging Benjen to tell her about all of it, and with a sigh, he had.

When he finally wed Myrcella, their children were in attendance, and Gods but he enjoyed Cersei and Tywin Lannisters’ faces when Melia and Myrra ran for their mother, Myrcella murmuring to her daughters. His sons came to collect their sisters, and his parents’ eyes twinkled. Uncle Oberyn had agreed that having more children- bastard and trueborn- than the Lannisters was one way to one up them. His own mother had birthed another son, to his fathers’ delight, and Arianne was finally considering marriage. Ellaria cradled his ninth girl cousin with tender hands.

Although he knew he shouldn’t, Trystane revelled in that his parents were even happier than Oberyn and Ellaria. It seemed like a peaceful kind of revenge, on his cousins and their mother who thought murdering Myrcella would solve anything.

He can’t act on what was, much as he wants to throttle them. Instead, he trains in all matters. He attends every Peacemeet, converses with every intelligent member of the Winterfell household, plays Cyvasse and other strategy games. He writes to Quentyn, and Arianne, and Mother and Father and baby Dorion, plays with his children and teaches them all he knows.

Trystane watches Myrcella train their children with the expectation that the task she is supposed to set them will be long done before she ever has to. And it is. Jaime, despite being heartbroken at having to do it, sets up the assassination of his sister, and poisons his father. Tyrion arranges Joffrey quite nicely. Arya Stark sends Petyr Baelish to the Many-Faced God with a smile. Ramsey Bolton is long dead, as is Roose, Domeric installed in their place.

Nymeros chafes at being raised in Dorne after the wedding, trained from birth to fight for his people as he is. Mellarion, too, wishes to be useful. Melia and Myrra are training under Arya to be Spymasters for their aunt Arianne at Winterfell. Myrcella prods him into sending the boys back to Winterfell to assemble as part of the army backing Theon Greyjoy. He dislikes having all his children so far, but they are bastards, able to move freely if he but takes his eyes off them. So he reluctantly permits it, soon enough distracted by Myrcella’s newest pregnancy.

Tommen ascends the throne, and after settling the debts as he promised, calls for the Dragonlords from the North. Robert is long dead, as is Stannis, Arianne complicit after being brought into the fold. Viserys across the sea might be opposition, but Tommen is clear in his proclamation

_“The Targaryens’ are Kings and Queens by right of Conquest. Let only the sanest be let back onto the throne, and they must swear by their relatives blood to step down if the realm demands it.”_

Dorne is granted back their kingdom ‘so long as friendship is maintained with the other kingdoms in the name of peace’, as are the North, the Stormlands, the Iron Islands, the lands of the West- they go to Tommen while Tyrion searches for Tysha- the Riverlands and Dragonstone.

The Iron Throne is dismantled, as the molten swords go to Gendry Baratheon, Smith King of the Stormlands, with a list of names and descriptions to be restored. Aegon and his dragon supervise and provide flame as needed, Renly continuing to rule in his nephews’ name.

Jon Stark Targaryen and his wife Daenerys come from Winterfell on the backs of dragons, Sansa Stark Greyjoy and her husband Theon ride in on the first of their ships, Dorne arrives in a royal cruiser, the Riverlands send a grand envoy, as does the Westerlands.

The Crownlands, it is decided, will remain a royal gathering place, and a Lord and Lady Paramount will be appointed, as this will be where all the noble children in the realm will come to sit the Trials of Adulthood, a series of tests geared to help their home Maesters educate them without bias. When the Trials are not in session, it will be the seat of education in Westeros, Aegon decrees. Which means that Maesters would come to this place to learn how to teach, and the common children would learn reading, writing and sums, Daenerys finished firmly. As Winter Town already had a school in session, Aegon asked if the staff of the Lord Paramount could be put there to learn.

Oldtown was told to prepare more Maesters, and the People of the Forest and the Green Men to prepare more lady healers. Tobho Mott was told to put the word out to smiths that graduates of Maegors’ would be permitted to search for jobs.

Myrcella could scarcely believe it. The better world they’d fought for was here. Arya’s Spymaster apprentices hailed from all over the kingdoms, as did Gendry’s smiths. Jon had taught many children the proper way to wield a sword, and Theon a bow. She herself had taught the others how to apply Cyvasse to life, and now…

Now the world could prosper.


	7. In the end, we are together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An explanation and a few drabbles about life after overthrowing Joffrey before he ever began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was done with this, but decided that an explanation is valid. One of the reviews- anyway, Jon, being a bastard, inheriting, all that. While I’m at it, running Cat from Winterfell.  
> Let’s start with Catelyn. I make no bones about how much I dislike her. No, she didn’t abuse Jon, but she still hurt him, as I said vaguely awhile back. My frame of reference for that is, as I said then, my half brother. He’s my brother. If someone was hurting him and it was in my power to stop it, I would.  
> Now, as for ‘running her out of Winterfell’, it’s not actually true. Yes, I did phrase it as that, to make the Tully viewpoint clear. However, Catelyn is not run out of Winterfell. She was requested to step aside as Lady of Winterfell or return to her family. Catelyn rode out for Riverrun because she was angry. Jon being Jon, he tried to repair this because he knows what it’s like to not have a mother and while touched, he doesn’t think his sibs need to do without because they’re offended on his behalf.  
> Jon inheriting, despite being a bastard? I thought saying that Tommen was in on the whole thing and that ‘all debts were paid as promised or something’ would be clear enough subtext. Basically, the Starks decided a pack is run by an alpha wolf, and as the eldest male to survive, Jon is the Alpha of their generation. Tommen, knowing what the Stark kids want, legitimized Jon and authorized Robb stepping down as Warden in the North. Because they all knew that Robb had been a genius military leader, Tommen had no issues with that as king.  
> Aegon, on the other hand, likes Jon and Dany, and when he steps up to the Iron Throne, makes sure the decision stands and eventually passes a law that makes it easier for Lords to choose their heirs.

Tommen Lannister likes his life on the Rock. After Tyrion sent a letter that he was staying with Tysha, he’d officially been granted Casterly Rock by Aegon. He hadn’t seen Tyrion or Myrcella since Myrcella’s wedding six moons ago, not long after which Cersei, Tywin and Joffrey had been assassinated.

Why does Tommen like being the Lord of Casterly Rock? Well, there was Joy Hill, the daughter of his Great-Uncle Gerion, who liked cats (not as much as he did, but oh well). There was his lion Tyja, who stalked around the halls of the Rock as he and the direwolves and Myrcella’s lioness had prowled the corridors.

The dragons had stayed outside after they were too big for the doorway.

One of the things he would never admit about liking about living on the Rock was that he was closest to Gendry. Mya, who lived in the Vale, and Myrcella who lived in Dorne, weren’t as close to Gendry as he was was. Edric was closer- had become a trusted man of the Reach- but of them all, it was Gendry Tommen was closest to. Gendry who hadn’t cared they weren’t related and taught him like a big brother. Like the one Joffrey had never been.

It had been Gendry and Arya who’d taught him to fight. Not with a sword or hammer, but a sleek flail. He’d learned to dip and duck and whirl the weapon around, had been given the honour of Gendry’s beaming blue eyes and Arya’s laughing praise. And when he proved he was ready for a real weapon? Gendry had presented him with armour of his own and a flail with an intricate chain.

He’d learned how to fight beside Tyja from Arya, who’d had Nymeria help her to demonstrate. And Tyja was the best friend he’d ever had. More than all the kittens Joff had killed, Tyja could protect himself, and that had relieved Tommen. Myrcella had shared his concern about their lions, but Tyja had only helped pair the lions already at the Rock with deserving Lannisters, so Tywin hadn’t permitted Joffrey to try to hurt them anyway.

In another part of Westeros, another blond male considered how much he liked his life. Loras Tyrell was staring at the ceiling of his neatly appointed rooms at Storm’s End. Gendry and Arya had declared that servants would be permitted to bring the laundry in the middle of the day and that was all, they, Loras and Renly, all in the family quarters, would keep their rooms themselves.

Loras was glad of it, despite the protests. He woke most mornings beneath a snoring Baratheon, one leg hitched over his hip, arms around his neck. Renly was affectionate even in sleep, smothering and snuggling and nuzzling, and Loras couldn’t protest. Couldn’t even muster up a grumble, not even for show. Because he’d lived a life without Renly, and fuck but it had hurt. Not again. Not ever again if he didn’t have to.

So he dozes off again, under Renly’s warm weight, only to come awake not long later when his lover trails kisses down to his cock, gently sucking it into his mouth, and Loras wants to cry. How long has been since he stared down hot blue eyes as their owner sucks his brains out through his manhood?

Reading the mood correctly, Renly slowly releases his cock, kisses the tip and snakes his way up Loras’ smaller frame. Strong arms pull him to a deep chest and loving lips murmur into his ear

“It’s alright, Loras, I’m here, I love you.” Loras swallows his sobs and holds Renly close, sighing

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I love your nephew.” Renly chuckles and admits

“Me too, Loras, me too.”

The last man in Westeros to consider how much he liked his life on the day in question wasn’t actually blond. Trystane Martell was sitting on his bed and marvelling at how the children had congregated there no matter where they were. Nymeros, his eldest, had baby Myrra on his chest as he snored beside his mother. Mellarion and Melia were similarly posed, Myrcella was sprawled out on her stomach, her head in his lap as he leaned against the headboard.

Trystane was awake, which is why he was able to gesture his baby brother Dorion over from where he hovered in the doorway, chuckling when the tyke tucked himself under his arm.

Ten minutes later, a worried Mellario was led to Trystane and Myrcella’s room, heart melting when she saw her two youngest sons cuddling with the rest of Trystane’s family. Smiling, the Princess Consort of Dorne leaned against the doorframe, carefully wrapping an arm around her husband as he made his way over, the lines of his face softening as he took in the sight of their sons, gooddaughter and grandchildren.


End file.
